


In which Tony has a Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad week

by Skull_Bearer



Series: Sex, Love and Robotics [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Killian, Alpha Rhodey, Alpha Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Basically Killian being a major creep, Beta Natasha, Beta Pepper, Comic Extremis, Extremis, F/F, Gen, Gore, M/M, Omega Bruce, Omega Clint, Omega Tony, Omegaverse, Reference to sexual assault, Transhumanism, Violence, but nothing happens, fuck that guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 21:10:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12441915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/pseuds/Skull_Bearer
Summary: Tony's about to go into Heat, but now there's Killian, and Extremis, and SHIELD isn't what it seems.





	In which Tony has a Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad week

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Eli and Olivia for the beta read!
> 
> I don't like IM3, so this is only vaguely connected to the movie. Some reference to CA:WS.

Tony can feel the oncoming Heat when he wakes up. It’s almost a living thing inside him, restless and stirring and hungry. He rolls over, eyes still closed, and feels the brush and soft cling of skin on skin. Bruce turns into him and tucks his head in the crook of Tony’s neck, hums happily.

“Yeah.” Tony breathes. The irritating itch and restlessness of oncoming Heat wasn’t there, for once, and instead there’s the weird, deep satisfaction, the sort of feeling where he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to leave the nest. Just stay and wrap himself in Bruce and Clint and touch nothing but them, taste nothing but them, their scents alive on his skin until Heat comes.

Tony can’t help but try and think of ways he could always have had this. Maybe if he’d just given Obi the damn company and gone off to do his own thing- lived in communes, maybe shared digs with someone like Bruce-

Or maybe he’d have come to his senses about Obi. Fucking __listened__  to Jarvis, and kicked him out. Gotten Pepper onside and told the board to fuck themselves with their collective knots-

Nah, Obi would have still have found a way to breed or murder him. He’d been stubborn like that.

Bruce’s fingers fan over his collarbone, rub little circles as he hooks his head over Tony’s shoulder and rubs his scent all over him. It’s wonderful. “I’d put you about three days out.” He mumbles.

“Pretty much.” Tony yawns. “Wanna keep me company?”

“Commune oath.” Clint pushes himself up on his elbows on Bruce’s other side. “A Heat for a Heat.” He interlaces his fingers in a commune bond.

“Pretty sure you helped me with two so far.” Tony stretches.

“Eh, it’s flexible.” Clint shrugs, and sits up, “Anyway, Heat here? “Anyway, just say Phil and me can use it when it’s my turn and we’re even.”

Tony grins. The compound was finished three weeks ago, and while the Oriental’s Heat rooms were nothing to scoff at, he’s wanted to make a __point__  with these. Floor to ceiling one way windows, Heat-fitted bathroom attachment, and a massive circular bedding area that feels like sleeping on clouds.

It’s the first time Tony’s had the chance to build a nest, he might have gone overboard.

Bruce nuzzles Tony’s neck, breathes him in, and Tony rolls into him. Bruce smells __good__ , hot and sharp, deep and raw and just- __yes__. Sometimes it’s an effort to remember the faint indentation of his bonding bite, and stay away.

Clint is softer, more soothing. There’s something of Agent in there too, some part of him Clint carries even all these months later.

“You know,” Clint says suddenly, “After my next Heat- I might go.”

“Go where?” Bruce turns, there’s a faint line on a frown between his eyes, Tony wants to rub it away- then, seeing as they __are__  naked and nesting together, he does.

Bruce bats his hand away, “Just- take a break.” Clint continues. “Phil’s not going to be fit for active duty for a long time- years maybe. We were talking about- starting a family and-” he shrugs.

It should hurt. It might be a good six months away but Clint is talking about leaving. Tony braces himself for the wrench of loss, the irrational sense of not being good enough-

But it doesn’t come. It doesn’t come because it doesn’t need to be here. Clint reaches out and touches Bruce’s shoulder, Tony’s. “You’d be welcome anytime. Phil wouldn’t mind, he likes you two.”

“You too.” Tony stretches, “Mi casa es tu casa.”

He’s just wondering if he can get Jarvis to order in breakfast where there’s a beep- speak of the devil. “Ms Potts on the line sir.”

Tony squints. “Sure, put her through.” Bruce reaches over to where the blankets are rucked up at the edges of the nest, and tosses a few over them in an appeal for modesty.

“She’s seen it all.” Tony sits up, waves as Pepper’s face flickers on the wall screen. “Hiya Peps.”

Pepper smiles so good, Tony’s not behind whatever reason she’s called for. “Hello Tony, Bruce, Clint.”

“Morning Ms Potts.” Bruce tucks his blanket around himself and shuffles off to the state of the art tea and coffeemaker.

“Espresso for me.” Clint props himself up on his elbows. “We can shove off if you want.”

“It’s fine.” Pepper sighs. “Tony, I hate to do this to you, but I’m going to need you to go in.”

Tony blinks. “Uh, Pepper-“

“They’re insisting. They need to talk to you or no one. Our stock-“

“How’s me going into Heat in front of a board of directors going to be good for the stock?”

“We’re still trying to rebound from New York, and funding the Avengers isn’t coming cheap-“

“Ms Potts.” Bruce’s voice cuts in sharply. “With all due respect, I don’t think you know what you’re asking.”

Tony and Pepper both stop talking and look at Bruce. He sighs and takes a deep swallow of tea before continuing. “This isn’t simply asking him to cut a holiday short. A Heat isn’t an inconvenience, it’s a biological imperative. Can’t you get this company to postpone for a week?”

“You’re not in Heat right now though, are you?” Pepper frowns at Tony. “It won’t take more than the day.”

“Yeah, but they’re in Miami.” Tony sighs. “That’s most of a day to get there- and even if I make the meeting I won’t be able to come back here in time.” The thought of spending __another__  miserable Heat alone in his workshop makes Tony grimace.

“Heats have a lead-in period.” Bruce puts in, “It’s not like anyone is at 100% in the days just before and after.”

Pepper huffs. “Do you think I haven’t tried? They aren’t budging. They talk to Tony today, or no deal.”

“We could come.” Bruce hands Clint his espresso.

Clint takes it. “I’m due at the therapist today, and there’s Phil’s PT tomorrow, so I’m gonna be out one Miami trip, sorry Tony.”

Bruce hesitates. “I could make it, but-“ He looks at Clint and then at Tony. So far there’s been the two of them keeping the Hulk calm. The risk might be low, but...

The bots are at the mansion. Tony pulls a face. “It’s okay Bruce, I can ride it out. Got a Heat kit and everything.”

Bruce exhales. “I’m really sorry. Do you want something?” He waves at the drinks machine.

“Make mine a double.” Tony sighs. He’d better wake up quickly, Pepper isn’t gonna take no for an answer, and this is promising to be a __long__  day. “Right, send the brief to Jarvis. Are you at the mansion?”

“I’ll meet you at the airport.” Pepper nods. “Tony. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Let’s see if your deal survives after I go into Heat in front of AIM’s top brass.”

 

* * *

 

 

Oh god. If Tony had read the brief, he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed, let alone been on the plane. As it is, the words have a whole flight to brew inside him and the moment Tony’s feet hit the ground he lets rip. “Hell the fuck no.”

Pepper is actually taken aback, a bit anyway. “What are you talking about?”

“This meeting. Fuck no. __Aldrich fucking Killian__  Pepper? Are you high?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “He’s a good businessman Tony, and if Extremis is even half of what he’s promising-“

“He’s a __total creep__. Just being in the same room as the guy is grounds for a lawsuit-“

“Killian’s a sleeze, but you just have to put up with him for the meeting. Just go and hear him out, three hours at most.”

“No. Tell the pilot to refuel, because we’re going back to New York.” Pepper huffs and crosses her arms and she __doesn’t__   _ _get it__. She’s only seen Killian at functions and conferences. Only met the man in the sharp suit and the wandering hands, the slipped innuendos and crass jokes.

She’s never been cornered in an elevator by the guy, a hand thrown hungrily over her shoulder, slurring drooled words in her ear. __I’m a big fan of your work, why don’t you come back to my room, talk some more, have a coffee__ -

His hand had drooped to the small of Tony’s back, brushed the edge of his hips.

Tony had been twenty five, but suddenly he’d been seventeen again, weak and helpless, the stench of __Alpha__  choking him, hands everywhere and oh god he hadn’t taken his destrogel that morning and by the time the lift had stopped at his floor Tony had been about to tear the doors open himself just to __get away__.

Tony is raw and open, laid wide in anticipation for Heat. Of all the people he could meet right now, Killian is flat last, beating out even Howard and Obi and Hammer due to not being dead or in prison.

He looks at Pepper. “ _ _Please__ Pep.”

Pepper looks at him, for a moment she seems to waver, but then she stiffens. “I’m sorry Tony, but we really need this. Just hear his pitch, you don’t need to go beyond the lobby, and Happy will be right outside.”

It makes him feel a bit better, but not by much. “Can’t I wear the suit?” He whines.

Pepper smiles. “I had a business version of your dress tailored and sent over.”

That’s… okay. If he couldn’t wear the suit, that dress makes a nice substitute. At least he’ll be packing repulsors. Tony sighs. “Fine, give me a couple of hours to have a shower and say hi to the kids.”

 

* * *

 

 

He finds the scent-blocking soaps at the back of the bathroom cabinet. He hasn’t touched them for nearly three years. He uses half of the bottle, and comes out feeling numb and dead in a cloud of steam. He doesn’t feel __here__ , his own scent has been part of his life since Afghanistan, and without it- it’s an uncomfortable reminder of those eighteen wasted years, drugged up, the terror lurking under his skin.

The dress is in the workshop. It’s neat and sharp, red and gold and a bit more practical than his other one but still awesome.

 Tony looks at it for a moment. He’d been half hoping the bots would wreck it and he’d have an excuse not to do this.

It feels wrong. He touches the heavy, draping fabric with a heavy knot in his stomach. This meeting feels bad in the way SHIELD had, when he’d first met Steve, on the helicarrier, something bad just lurking there, hungry.

“Any chance of getting Steve down here?” Tony tries, half hearted. “Or Rhodey?”

“I’m afraid Captain Rogers is still on his mission for SHIELD, sir. And Colonel Rhodes is with him.”

Tony squirms inside the dress. Having a massive Alpha at his heels would be rather nice right now, but SHIELD’s got him to agreeing to chase down some terrorist bombings. The repulsors click in around his palms, and a little of the tension eases away. He buckles up the boots, and feels a bit better about that too. He straightens then, just because he can, kicks off and hovers for a moment or two.

The blast and hot air flaps his skirts daringly around his legs, Tony pushes them down, drifts across the workshop, then cruises in for a neat landing next to You. “Okay, sorry to dash out, but we’ll get some time when I get back- and now the workshop’s been set up in the complex, you can come stay in New York. How’s that?”

You beeps and rests a claw lightly on Tony’s shoulder. Butterfingers bumps into his side, whirring. Dummy lags back, but cranes his camera up eagerly.

“I think they will be more than happy to, sir.” Jarvis sounds happy too- he’s missed the other bots.

“Okay.” Tony smoothes down the skirt, adjusts the hem. He looks at himself in the mirror. He looks- well, the dress looks great, but there’s a worried, uncomfortable look in his eyes he really doesn’t like. He pulls on a pair of tinted shades. Better. He tries a sharp, press grin.

“Very dashing, sir.”

Tony sighs. He sniffs himself and grimaces. The scent soap is strong, but there isn’t much it can do in the long run. He’s already smelling pretty obviously of Omega, and it won’t be long before the pre-Heat scent breaks through too.

“I’ll see you guys in the evening.” Tony checks the clock. Meeting’s at five, he should be just in time. “Wish me luck.”

Whirrs. Beeps. “Good luck sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

AIM’s headquarters are from the ‘concrete block of shit’ school of architecture, and anyone who thinks yellow is a great colour for uniforms must be permanently fucking high and maybe if Tony can just keep trashing them in his head he’ll wear down that cold knot in the pit of his stomach.

His back locks up as he walks through the main doors into the lobby, the air conditioning is up too high and the cold cuts through the gaps in the dress, little sharp knives on his bare legs. It crawls up his back like a swarm of ants when the tall man leaning on the front desk turns and smiles at Tony, a slow, drawling smirk that turns Tony’s stomach.

His eyes drag down over Tony, and Tony is suddenly very glad this dress has sleeves and is not slit up to the waist like the last one. He clenches his hands over the repulsors, clacks his heels in sharp stattacco on the marble floor in a show of bravado.

“Tony,” Killian sidles over, “That makes a nice change from the suits.” Another sickening, lingering look. “I suppose we’ve both changed.” He shifts, as if to show himself off. “Do you remember the first time we met? I do.”

Tony has to fight to keep the press smile in place because- __ew__. Killian is already leaning in, too close, and Tony steps back. “Kinda not what I’m here for. Just give me your pitch, and I’m off.”

Killian’s face just- goes weird, there’s a flash of confusion and for a moment the whole sleazy Alpha thing goes and he’s almost gaping at Tony. Then he blinks, and it’s gone, and Killian is smiling again. “What, no talking about old times? No comment on my new looks?”

“I didn’t think anyone wants to discuss their plastic surgery, but congrats on learning where the shower is.” Tony crosses his arms- it’s a bad tell that he’s uncomfortable, but right now he wants to crawl into a shell – or the armor- and not come out. “If you’ve got anything to say on the deal, come on.”

“You didn’t want anything to do with me when we first met.” Killian smiles. “I don’t blame you- looking like I did. I waited all night on that rooftop, waiting for you- pretty romantic really-“

“And I don’t give a shit. You want to talk Extremis, then talk. Otherwise, I’m going the hell home.”

“Extremis, is the reason I wanted to see you.” Killian leans in, too close. Tony steps back, he closes again. “I admit, Tony, it was a bit of a ploy. I wanted you to see what I’d become because of it- see what you thought of me now I’m not quite as-“ he waves a hand at himself- “what did you say to Maya? __Creepy?__ ”

Maya? Right. Tony can’t really remember much. Something about a plant and a nice Omega he’d invited to bed if only to get Killian’s touch off his skin.

Fuck this. “You are a creep.” Tony snarls. “You were a creep, you’re still a creep and I don’t give a fuck what you look like. If this is all some kind of sick come on, I’m going now.” He turns, maybe if he gets Happy to take him to the airport, he can still make New York before his Heat- get the bots sent over later-

The smile is gone, Killian’s face twists up. “ _ _Don’t walk away from me!”__

His hand closes on Tony’s arm.

Tony’s on a hair trigger, and that just pulled it. He snaps his free hand up, the repulsor glowing bright blue, but Killian barely flinches. His hand tightens, crushing pain, and fear explodes in Tony’s belly. Hot, wild panic. The world blurs into a kaleidoscope of __get away get away__. He twists, trying to pull his arm free but Killian’s hand is a steel trap. He pulls hard, and Killian reaches for him with his free hand, snapping closed on Tony’s shoulder. Tony fires.

The blast lights up the lobby in a blaze of blue, Killian’s hand tears free from Tony’s arm and he is blasted back into the welcome desk. Tony is frozen for a moment, breathing raggedly. His arm is coming up swollen and red, he’s going to have a motherfucker of a bruise.

Killian is slumped against the desk, smoke rising from his clothes and the terror goes cold and dead inside Tony. Oh god, he’s killed him. That blast could have taken out a tank and he’s just shot it at an unarmed man. Pepper’s gonna kill him and frankly Tony entirely deserves it and he’s going to have to hand himself into jail for this-

Then Killian sits up.

Half the suit on his shoulder is gone, the skin burned red and angry on the edges, a sickening scorched black where Tony had hit him. Even as he watches though, the skin seems to ripple, the red turning to pink, the black to brown, red and then in a matter of a dozen stalled heartbeats Killian is completely unharmed.

Tony is staring. Even Steve can’t heal like that. His mind is jammed, one hand still raised and trained on where Killian had been.

“Like it Tony? __This__  is Extremis. You and Maya might have talked a little about it, that night.” It’s almost spat out.

The plant, some of it is coming back to Tony now, the plant that could heal, regrow. And sometimes explode. Killian’s skin is steaming now, almost glowing, his eyes are flared red and it hits Tony that this is a __really bad place to be__.

He takes a step back, then another. The people in the lobby are looking at him. None of them have moved, none of them have screamed or called the police or- anything. A few are smiling.

Their eyes are red.

__Shit__.

Tony turns, and tries to run. He needs the suit, he needs the __team__. He’s reaching for his phone but the pockets are so small in this thing it’s a fight to pull it out-

Someone tries to grab him, Tony raises both hands and blasts them- full power, this is a __fucking trap__ \- and they move so fast he can barely see, darting out of the way and bouncing up ready to come at him again. Tony turns, fires at a guy closing on him by the door and- __that__  hits. The man doubles over, shudders, his eyes burn red- redder and redder and-

The explosion throws Tony back three feet, he staggers, drops his guard.

“Banner had the right idea,” Killian is suddenly there, only a few feet away. “But he went about it the wrong way. What’s the point of recreating the super soldier serum when you can __improve__  it?”

Tony throws out his hands for a double blast, just keep him down long enough for Tony to run- but Killian is too fast, he’s up inside Tony’s guard in the next heartbeat. “Perfection.” He hisses. “Only unfair if someone else has it, right Tony?”

Then he grabs Tony’s hands in each of his, and squeezes.

The repulsors crunch, shattering into thousands of shards of metal and glass. Tony can hear his own bones pop and snaps as Killian crushes them to a pulp and he’s screaming. The pain hasn’t even hit yet and he’s screaming in the nightmare and Obi is laughing as Howard crushes his hands to useless knots of bone-

The terror explodes outwards, supernova, uncontrollable. Tony screams and screams and kicks and lashes out with knees and elbows and head and __everything__ \- __make it stop make it stop get away from me get away get away oh god__ -

Killian drops his useless- __useless__ \- hands and grabs Tony, as easily as if he were a mannequin, a __thing.__  Tony screams again and please dear god Rhodey Pepper Happy Jarvis Bruce Steve __anyone-__

But there’s no one. He’s screaming and screaming and no one can hear.

Again.

The dress tears under Killian’s hands, slacking around Tony’s shoulder, dropping off his back. Killian’s hand clenches down on bare skin and Tony shrieks. The hand __burns__ , so hot it’s almost cold.

Tony twists, the dress tears more and for a sudden, suspended moment he’s free. Tony gets his legs against Killian and kicks him away.

There’s a shout, Tony lands on his shoulder and rolls. His ruined hands are solid balls of agony under him, but he pushes himself up on his shattered knuckles. He lurches, his dress bunches around his knees and drags at him and he is never never never wearing a dress again. His too-high heels slide over the tattered fabric, cannot grip, he throws himself forward anyway- __get out get out get out-__

Killian grabs him around the waist. His body is tight against Tony’s. Too hot, too strong too big too __Alpha__  and the searing chemical stench of him is in Tony’s nose and the dress rips free a little more and oh god oh fuck oh no no no-

“Get rid of the chauffeur.” Killian snarls to his goons and Tony screams, high and crystalline in the airless heat of the lobby.

“ _ _Happy__ -“ He roars. He twists, tries to find something to bite. Killian laughs, and tightens his grip. His hand tears through the frayed fabric at his waist, snatches tight on the flesh of Tony’s belly.

And all the strength just- goes out of Tony. He can’t breathe. There is nothing in him but the unending welling of sick terror, choking and gagging and he’s about to be sick-

“Get the lab prepped.” Killian turns, heading to the bank of elevators and suddenly Tony finds strength from somewhere, and screams again, furious. He lifts his feet, a counterpoint to Killian’s weight to make him stumble, readies the repulsor for one more blast-

And Killian bites down on his neck.

It’s that sweet spot, the junction of shoulder and neck. Bright and searing and for a moment the world greys out, loses focus. It’s roaring hot pain, and he can feel the long trickle of blood running from Killian’s teeth to his collarbone, and it’s pleasure too. The worst kind. Sick and wrong and all biology and as twisted as his first Heat.

Tony shudders, and throws up.

He manages to twist so some of it gets on Killian, but most of it goes down his front. Killian swears and throws him to the floor.

Tony lands on his hands and chokes, tries to scream and nearly drowns in his own vomit. He gets a shoulder against a wall and throws up again, in the hollow of his hunched body. The world shudders around him, loose and shaking and for a moment Tony wonders if that’s just him, but then there’s the ding of a floor- they’re in an elevator.

“ _ _Fuck__ -“ Killian’s face is twisted in revulsion, he’s trying to sponge off the mess with a handkerchief, but Tony’s definitely wrecked that suit.

Tony touches the side of his neck with his soft, bloated hands. The small bones grind against each other and the pain is barely even pain anymore, just a sort of lightheaded unreality circling around his ruined hands and oh god his hands his hands __his hands__ -

“Get him out of here!” Killian roars and the hands- hands __hands hands__  grab for him, snap around his arms and legs and the world revolves senselessly blind and white and his back hits something cold and hard. Tony chokes, clears his throat and __screams__.

“Shut him up!”

Two of the hands on his legs release, slap over his mouth. Cold fire explodes through him and Tony rocks back, gets his legs up and lashes out with both legs. He gets someone with his right foot but the next moment they are grabbed, pinned down and no- __no__ -

Killian’s hands are on his legs, leaning over him. He tightens his grip, just a little, but it’s enough for all the strength, all the fury and rage just- goes. __I can hurt you,__ the grip says, __very, very badly.__

For a moment, Tony cannot move, cannot breathe. The grip so tight he can feel the small bones in his ankles grind together. Killian leans over and slides his hands up Tony’s legs and oh god he’s going to be sick and he’s going to choke on the vomit and drown-

He’s so frozen, he doesn’t move in time when Killian grabs a syringe from a side table and buries the tip of it in Tony’s inner thigh.

Tony doesn’t even really feel it at first, the world blotching out at the edge in splots of black and white from his ruined hands until the steel in his leg is a sort of- an afterthought, a footnote in the miasma of pain.

The fire starts in his leg, lighting up through veins and arteries until every nerve is burning like an overclocked circuit board. Then it spreads. Up and out and the hands drop off him one by one until Tony is set rigid against the table, unable to move and he is __burning__. Fuck oh god he’s burning __alive__  he needs to get away he needs to __get away__ -

Then it stops, sudden and brutal as a circuit snapping closed and the fire bleeds out of him until every nerve is raw and trembling. He shudders, and his booted heels slam on the table and __no one is holding him__.

Tony rolls. Crashes to the floor. He scrambles like a spider, wild, flailing. Slams against the wall. He backs against it, his shoulder blades tremble, tighten, try to dig through the concrete.

KIllian and his people haven’t moved. They’re smiling, like Tony is being so absurd, so funny. Killian straightens, puts down the empty syringe with a slow, deliberate __clink__.

“What did you do to me?” Tony hisses, his voice comes out strange, raw and distorted.

Killian steps forwards. Tony shrinks back, tries to get his feet under him but __fuck__ \- what is he supposed to do? This guy is stronger than Steve, tougher than the Hulk- Tony only has the repulsors at his feet and his hands-

His hands.

Tony looks down at his hands. His unharmed, pink, perfectly normal hands. He closes them into fists, and they move easily. The small white scar on his left knuckle is gone.

He looks up, and Killian is inches away. “Amazing, isn’t it?” He breathes.

“What did you do?” Tony’s heart constricts, trembles.

“I gave you perfection.” Killian smiles, a slow, greasy thing. “You’ll thank me for it.”

“My hands-”

“I didn’t want to hurt you Tony.” His hand lands, tight and crushing on his shoulder, “Don’t make me hurt you.” The hand tightens again, hungry.

Tony cannot breathe, doesn’t move in time before Killian wrenches the door beside him open, and throws him through.

Tony lands on his back on the raw concrete, the breath knocked out of him. He’s naked but for his underwear and boots, he rolls over, tries to get up- and Killian kicks him in the stomach.

It isn’t a hard kick, but it’s enough to throw Tony back three feet and he curls up on himself, wheezing.

 Killian has a folding table with him, a chair and a laptop. He smiles at Tony, and sets them up in the middle of the room. “A nice thing about Extremis, amazing senses. I could smell you when you walked in, even through that disgusting soap. You’ve got what? Two days?”

Tony chokes.

“Do you know why I only have Alphas with me?” Killian continues, opens the laptop. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Tony. It’s the Heats. You saw what happened to poor Lieutenant Evens? No, Extremis is perfection- but it is not perfect.”

He turns suddenly, smiles at Tony. “But __you__ Tony… you remember Maya? You had the key. You had a way of stabilizing Extremis. Thirteen years ago, drunk and- debauched as you were. You could do it. And now you’re going to do it again.”

He turns the laptop towards Tony. “Two days. You’ll find the data you need on this laptop. Two days, or you go up like poor Evans.”

Tony tries to sit up, the pain of bruised ribs shudders through him, then is replaced by a flash of boiling, incoherent __fire.__ It sears through nerves, light up bright along his spine and his brain swells and bloats with heat until his head is about to burst from it-

Then it’s gone, and Tony’s lying on the ground, struggling to breathe.

Killian is standing over him, smiling. “Two days, Tony.” He presses a foot between Tony’s legs. “You’ll do it. I have complete faith in you. And don’t worry about your Heat. The smile twists. “It’ll be a good ride, promise.”

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed behind him. The clicks and snaps of many, many locks. Killian had been __planning__  this.

For a moment, Tony wonders how he __knew__. Did he follow Tony’s absences religiously, work out which were Heat, somehow, and timed it like this? Tony shakes his head, closes his eyes for a moment. He can feel the coldness of the concrete under him, the solidity of the walls. The closed, safe place. He is alone here. They have left him alone.

Tony opens his eyes, and sits up. There’s a fire in his stomach that has nothing to do with Extremis. __Right__.

He gets up unsteadily. His body is fine, but there’s something- __alien__  about it. Killian did something to him. Made his body not his- __shut up shut up shut up__.

He’ll fix this. He fixed it before. Every time. His body is __his__. No one else. __Mine mine mine__.

Tony steps towards the table, unsteadily at first, then more confidently. He picks up the laptop, and throws it as hard as he can to the ground.

The casing cracks and splits from the force. Sparks fly out and wires burst out through the plastic. Tony sits down and pulls his boots off.

It’s a matter of a few seconds to pull the repulsors out of their casings in the boots. He’s lost most of the wires with the dress, but he knits what’s left with the wires from the laptop, fastens them to the repulsors, and fits the ends into the arc reactor.

A new heat jolts through him. A cool, sweet fire flowing out and bright across his skin. The arc reactor glows brighter, almost white. The reactors buzz and crackle as the power flows through them. Tony nods, picks up the reactors to find some way of tying them to his hands- maybe he could re-purpose the elastic from his underwear-

The moment his hand touches the reactor, it flows easily into his hand. The skin opens and welcomes the cool metal, the wires swallowed into his arm as easily as veins. The arc reactor glows brighter, the hungry, ugly heat of Extremis swallowed for a moment.

Tony closes his eyes and he can feel the wires in his arms, chest, hands. They don’t hurt, just- __are__  there. Like his bones are there, only noticeable for the newness of them. In a few weeks, he won’t notice them at all.

If he lives that long. He can feel the first slow, coiling demands of Heat in his belly, the echoing flame of Extremis. If he can’t find a way to control it-

Tony opens his eyes and he __knows__. It’s not what Killian wants, fuck, if he’d understood the scribblings Tony left Maya he wouldn’t have bothered, but it’s a way out. He’ll live and he’ll control Extremis and he’ll make his body __his__ again.

 There’s a window. It’s high up, more of a skylight, but that’s enough. That’s more than fucking enough. Tony looks down at his hands, the blue glow of the reactors. He flexes his bare feet on the floor, glances at the door. __You’re a creep, Killian, and a fucking moron on top of that.__

Tony looks up, gauges the window. He has no HUD, no Jarvis- __and oh fuck Jarvis must be freaking out by now__ \- it’s just… a thought, a desire for motion and the reactors blaze full power, kicking up up and through the window in an explosion of broken glass and white fire.

 

* * *

 

 

The flight back is flat last in terms of Tony’s worst flights. Even worse than his doughnut flight. At least he was in the goddamn __suit__  that time.

The cold bites at his bare skin, his feet numb and freeze and his fingers are little stiff icicles. His face raw from the speed he’s forcing himself into. He’s too high to see from the ground and he arcs out wide out over the ocean to stay out of sight. The cold outside meets the heat of his own erratic body in some kind of searing, intolerable event horizon. His body is drenched in sweat, his teeth are chattering.

The mansion wells up in his blurred vision like a great white mushroom. Tony barely has the sense to aim himself at once of the workshop windows before he hits it at full speed.

A shoulder is wrenched out of its socket, glass carves his thighs and stomach open and his ribs are nearly crushed flat. One heartbeat, and he’d be dead. But in that heartbeat his chest has re-inflated, the ribs snapping back into place. The arteries close before he loses any blood at all, the red butcher’s cuts on his legs closing to red lines, and vanishing in the next heartbeat.

And Tony __burns__.

He hits the sofa hard. His impact on the window slowed him down, but it still sends the sofa spinning. Tony lands heavily on the floor. He tries to push himself up and his arm slams back into its socket, the fire explodes out from the sudden healing and Tony curls into a ball and oh god what if he explodes here, like the other guy? __Dummy and the bots are here__ -

“Sir?” Jarvis’ voice is raw, horrified. “Sir, your life signs-”

Are probably off the charts. “Jarvis.” Tony sits up, hoarsely. The bots are rolling over, claws raised, worried. “ _ _No!__ ” Tony shrieks. “No! Get back I could- I might be-”

“Sir.” Jarvis snarls, “We have backups all over the house, including direct connection to the lead-lined server in the bedrock of the house you built in case of nuclear war.”

Oh, right. Tony closes his eyes, fight down the deadly roaring fire in his veins. “Jarvis.” He gets up, braces himself on the back of the sofa, it buckles, a leg cracks and he stumbles. “Jarvis, I need your help.”

“Sir?”

“I need-” Tony takes a breath. “I need what you made. I need plan B.”

“Plan B? I do not-”

“Goddamn it Jarvis! You know what I mean!” Tony punches the sofa, it groans, cracks and settles down as another leg gives way. “Plan B! Plan B for the palladium! It’d work with that and it’ll work with this.”

The bots are still, Jarvis is silent. Tony takes a breath, stumbles. The fire is under control for now. “Killian injected me with a- a serum. It’s unstable. You said plan B would work in controlling the palladium, it should work in controlling this. I drafted something like it once and you- you built it.” He looks up. “If it doesn’t I’ll probably go off when I go into Heat.”

Another, long silence, and Tony feels like screaming because they __don’t have time__. “Very well.” Jarvis says finally, “But sir- it would require-”

“I know what it requires.” Tony snarls.

“ _ _It would require replacing all of your circulatory system__.” Jarvis roars over him. “And 70% of your nervous system. A significant amount of your respiratory and digestive tract would be adapted as well. We did not even know if you could survive it!”

Tony closes his eyes. “Jarvis, if we don’t do it, then me and the house are going to be a large lump of carbon in about forty eight hours.” He opens his eyes. “I trust you.”

Another, long silence. Then Dummy rolls up, touches Tony gently with his claw. So gently, as though Tony was made of glass. Tony closes his eyes for a moment and the exhaustion of the last few hours and the jetlag before that hits like a rock. He lets his eyes stay closed for a few more heartbeats, then forces his eyes open again.

One of the Iron Man suits is standing a few feet away. It’s not quite finished, the plates missing, just exposed wires and sensors. The eyes glow blue. “Jarvis?”

The suit nods. Behind him, Butterfingers and You are pulling plan B on a gurney.

It’s been two years since Tony has seen that mess of wiring and nanotubing. His stomach clenches. “Okay.”

“Please lie down on the table.” Jarvis’ voice is numb. “We have a general anesthetic.”

Tony nods, the table is cold. He knocks a spanner and a handful of screws to the ground and stretches out. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to __look__  at the thing. He shudders as Jarvis puts the mask over his face and oh god he’s seventeen again, at the clinic and he doesn’t want to __look__  he doesn’t want to look he’s going to be unconscious soon and it’s going to be fine, he’ll be fine he’ll wake up and it’ll all be over-

Shouldn’t he be unconscious by now?

The tip of something cold and sharp presses into his skin. Tony starts, “Whoah!”

“Sir?” Jarvis sounds horrified. “Are you not-”

“No.” Tony sits up, grinds his fists into his eyes and it’s only now, with the rest of the world cut out, that he can feel the low burn of Extremis, negating the drugs in his blood.

“Fucking hell!” Tony screams, slams his hands on the table. “Jesus fucking-” He breaks off, the fire is burning too hot, his skin is almost alight. “Okay, okay.” He takes a breath.

“Sir, we can try-”

“It’s Extremis. The serum. It’s like- like with Steve. The anesthesia won’t work.”

They do not speak, do not move. Tony looks up and of holy fuck they’re his __kids__. Bad enough he was asking them to preform major surgery on him, now they have to do it with him awake, feeling everything.

Trusting him to be able to control Extremis even as they cut him open.

“Hey.” Tony reaches out. His hand shakes, he clenches his fist, then strokes Butterfingers. “It’s okay. I’ve had open heart surgery with no painkiller and it was way worse than this. You guys can do this. I trust you.”

“Sir.”

“I trust you.” Tony repeats. He lies back down, clenches his hands. “I trust you.”

The four of them cluster around him. Little surgical scalpels held in claws, bonesaws, knives. A clutch of nanotubing. “I trust you.” Tony closes his eyes. “I trust you I trust you I trust you-”

He tries to carry on the mantra as long as he can, between the screaming. Then Jarvis gives him a bundle of cloth to bite on, and there’s nothing but the wet drag of his own flesh being laid open.

 

* * *

  

The world outside no longer exists. There is nothing but this. The individual battles fought cell by cell, individual nerves and rushing through every struggled beat of his heart. His whole body given over to the struggle.

The war.

It’s a war of pain, the burning, devouring inferno of it deep inside that he __cannot__ let out. It builds fortresses in his bones, locks up entire channels of blood. His bowels boil, his stomach dries and cracks and he is dying.

And outside, the invading army of sharp, cold pain. It sallies forth in fits and starts, sometimes just skimming over regions of his nation-self, sometimes diving in to tear up whole provinces of lung, intestine, artery, brain.

But when it has taken control, the world is cool and calm, the fire is drawn up and burnt out and he shudders, chokes, gasps in the sudden surcease of it as though dunked in cold water.

Waxing and waving, growing and dying back, the fire is crushed down, bottled up, trapped and opened up and the fire and the cold melt and flow and sear and rebuild him cell by cell. Bones and veins and blood. There is no time, no sense of self until the cold pain ebbs suddenly away, the fire backs away in turn in cold war stalemate, until Tony can __think__ and he’s __Tony__  again and he opens his eyes.

His eyes are crusty, blurred, time doesn’t seem to exist anymore. A crescent moon flickers in his vision. He blinks, and the half finished suit is hovering over him, the gag is removed from his mouth. “Jarvis-”

“Yes si- Tony.” A cool hand runs over his face, Tony closes his eyes and maps out the pistons and bolts of it. “We are here.”

“Is it-” he coughs, the pain flashes hot fire through him. Dummy rolls over with a bottle and straw, Tony drinks ravenously.

“We are about to install the nanotubes.” Jarvis takes his hand, Dummy takes the other. “It is almost over. Just hang on.”

Tony blinks, tries to look down at himself- and Jarvis gently catches his chin. “Please do not, Tony. It is- we would-” the blue glow in his eyes flicker. “We would rather you not see this.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony croaks.

“You will live.” Jarvis’ voice trembles, almost the hint of a smile in the tone. “We have seen inside ourselves before. This is- not that different.”

There are cold places in Tony’s body which should not be cold, a breeze in places there really, really should not be breezes. He can feel the banked burn of Extremis as it tries to piece him back together. “Okay.”

“You are ready?”

“Guys, I got less than a day.” Even after the pain and the fire, he can feel the hot, organic tension of coming Heat. It feels like a really, really bad one. “I trust you guys.”

The nanotubes are barely tubes at all, a sort of tiny, fleshy mass of carbon and silicon. They are body-heat, rest like a nest of worms inside- inside a part of Tony doesn’t want to think of as being open to the air. He trembles, grits his teeth. Then his jaws are open and he is screaming, over and over and over as Jarvis sets the command to the tubes and they wake like snakes and start to burrow.

The world blots out in shades of grey and black and his brain just __overloads__. The pain is __everywhere__. Bursting white and impossible and tunneling through him over and over and hungry and insatiable as maggots in rotten meat.

His throat is raw, he can feel the fire of Extremis wrapping around it, coiling and healing even as he tears it open again and again. He should have lost his voice a thousand times over, but Extremis keeps him screaming, high and wild and intolerable even as the pain just- loses all meaning and becomes a sort of- filter to existence, as meaningless as gravity or the feeling of air.

Then, finally, as the nanotubes spread out filaments into every corner of him, as they dive in deep and bury themselves into stomach, kidneys, intestines. Heart. Finally, Tony passes out.

 

* * *

 

 

His body is a screwed up, bunched knot of a pain. He’s a sheet of pain paper crumpled up and thrown into a rubbish bin. Every inch of him hurts. But it’s a dull pain, a healing pain, the sort of pain that comes after the wracking nightmare of the last- what? A day, maybe more?

Tony opens his eyes. His __eyes__  hurt. He vaguely remembers the nanotubes writhing their way into his corneas, then tries to blot out that thought. Nope. Not remembering that.

His moves his mouth, swallows. His mouth is bone dry, his throat tastes of oil and metal from the workshop. Something is pressed against his lips, a straw. He drinks and drinks and drinks.

“Sir?” Jarvis’ voice is all around him, from the speakers, not the suit. Tony blinks, swallows the water, nods and his neck cracks.

He blinks again and again and finally, the world starts to make sense. The light coming through the windows is gray, early morning, maybe. Dummy is huddled close him, You and Butterfingers are ducked behind over of the tables, pressed together and __oh. Oh my God__.

He can __feel__  them. He can- see, or feel their code. Their little calculation thoughts and feelings and fears and Dummy is so scared and he’s trying to blot out his own recordings of Tony being cut open on the table and You and Butterfingers can’t even __look__ , they’re __crying__. Crying in code and the tears are reaching through and running over Tony and there’s __Jarvis__  and he can feel him too, bright and mapped out through the house and almost vibrating with worry and running and rerunning his calculations to convince himself Tony is fine and failing abysmally.

“Sir?” Jarvis’s voice wobbles. “Tony, are- are you-”

“Oh god.” Tony looks around. His boys. __No, his kids.__ How did he ever miss that Butterfingers and You were __girls__? It’s stamped all the way through their code and maybe they only changed after he’d finished with them but still that’s no fucking excuse. “C’m here-” He reaches a hand to them.

He can feel the new metal parts and wires inside him grind and shift, a new sensation instead of just muscle and bone. It doesn’t hurt but it’s- it’s different, okay. He’ll get used to it. Oh god, oh fuck. Oh hell he’s going to have to __thank__  Killian after he blows his head off, it’s he? This is worth it. This is so, so worth it.

Butterfingers and You tremble, scared. They don’t understand. They hurt Tony, they saw him bloody and in pieces and when Tony shifts on the table it’s sticky with his own blood. Tony opens his mouth, then closes it and sends it you to them. He’s fine. He’s alive. He’s going to be okay and he’s so, so grateful to them.

All the bots are still for a moment, then the two girls charge out to him, wheels spinning wildly and skidding them almost over in the hurry to reach Tony. They take his hand with gentle claws, running them up and down his arm to convince themselves he’s okay.

“Tony,” Jarvis starts, then “ _ _Tony”.__  Inside his head. Warm and close and oh god his kids __his kids__.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips. “ _ _Yeah.__ ”

He shifts, tries to get closer, and something moves on his chest. Tony hesitates for a moment, not sure if he wants to look.

“ _ _You have entirely healed,”__ Jarvis says gently, echoing inside his head. __“You are in one piece__.”

Tony nods, looks down.

He looks- really good, actually. __Really good__. The arc reactor is still there, of course, glowing even brighter as it feeds and bleeds off excess Extremis, keeping it from building up in Tony’s body. He has the healing factor, and enough tech in him that he can __talk to his bots__. Even the scars around the reactor have healed-

Tony reaches down to find what he had felt earlier. His fingers grope through sparse hair and catch against something hard and sharp. He picks it out, finds another one. They are small, sheer pieces of white metal, the edges curled and so sharp they prick his fingers and Tony feels Extremis heat his fingertips as he heals the tiny cuts.

“They were forced out a few hours ago.” Jarvis says gently.

Oh. Tony turns them over and over in his hands, dreamlike. Shrapnel. The shrapnel that’s been inside him for three years. It’s weird, Tony almost feels a loss. It’s been through a lot, with him. Yes, it’s been nearly killing him, but it’s been the spur for him to make- so many amazing things. He wonders what he’s going to do without it.

“We removed the electromagnet.” Jarvis sounds almost apologetic. Dummy holds up the coiled weight of it, black and copper. “However, the arc reactor- it was part of the plan. The nanotubes feed to it-”

“ _ _I know__.” Tony answers silently, so they can feel it. __“I remember. I asked for it, remember?”__

He rolls the shrapnel between his fingers, gathers up the little pieces of the bomb, so long ago now it seems, that changed his life. “Here,” He hands them to Dummy, “Hang on to them.”

“ _ _Tony__?”

“I heard Wakanda likes jewelry that celebrates what nearly killed you.” Tony closes his eyes. “It’s all the rage.”

“Yes sir,” He can hear the smile in Jarvis’ voice.

Tony takes a deep breath- and it goes on and on and on as his lungs fill fully and wonderfully, the arc reactor light on his chest, Extremis flowing through him and strengthening his bones. “Good.” He breathes.

And goes into Heat.

 

* * *

 

 

It is- with the obvious exception of his first Heat- hands down the __worst__ Heat Tony has ever had. Bets are off, everyone go home, this is __fucking awful__.

His main kit isn’t here, for one thing, so Tony has to make do with the travel toys he’d left here in case of emergencies. The sofa’s broken too, so it’s constantly tipping Tony off onto the floor until Dummy takes pity on him and brings a pile of blankets from upstairs.

Tony curls up in the nest, Jarvis is trying to keep the air-con to a comfortable level despite the smashed window, Dummy and the bots are racing in and out with easy to eat food and nutrition shakes. But nothing is going to make this feel good. Holy fucking shit he is so fucking __tired__.

Tony shudders, rolls over. “Can you rewire the arc reactors to the needles?” He sends Jarvis and the bots a quick diagram of what it looks like in his head.

Jarvis doesn’t answer in words. A clear image for his cameras, the nanotubes doubled over themselves and hanging loose inside the armor, a question.

Tony sends back, the tubes shortened and tucked away. Adds a quick image of the arc reactor and how to disable the limits and failsafes. He’d never imagined his armors to be __this__ kind of weapon, but hey, whatever works. Tony’s flexible.

So flexible, in fact, that he almost arches himself through a full hundred and eighty degrees when the next wave hits. Extremis has ironed out all the stiff bones and aching joints in his body, but that just makes it easy for the roiling, crashing waves of Heat to knot him into pretzels.

One day, he is going to watch this footage with Jarvis and laugh at the shapes he’s making. He’ll make popcorn, have a drink, and laugh at this really fucking stupid moment in his life. One day. Probably in fifty years or so.

The Heat crests over and over and Extremis meets it in a wildfire and his arc reactor is coming close to overclocking as it burns through the discharge that would otherwise turn him into a fireball. Tony flops to the ground, rolls. His head cracks against hard concrete and he groans, the pain flashing up in blinking code behind his eyes. Dummy puts a pillow under his head.

He manages to find the toy half under the desk, it goes in smooth and slick and does absolutely nothing. Tony grits his teeth and gets it on a decent vibrate. His orgasm is almost a footnote, barely grazes the sheer, raw __need__  chewing through his bones and nanotubes. He pulls the toy out, roots until he finds a decent dildo and __fuck__  him for leaving the really heavy duty stuff at home. It goes in and __oh__ , that helps, the sharp, hungry jolt of relief as the thick knot goes in, the wave begins to ebb.

“Tony?”

Tony opens raw, exhausted eyes. It feels like someone’s been all over his body with sandpaper. “Yeah?”

“You may need to see this.”

The intact window lights up. Behind the projection, it’s daylight. Tony wonders what day it is. It takes him a minute to register the images flashing up- CNN, it looks like, the feed is really fragmented, they must have really wrecked the mansion’s electrics if that’s the best they’re getting.

He squints. “Is that the Helicarrier?”

“Yes.”

And oh- oh fuck it’s going down. It’s __crashing__. Tony tries to sit up, and the toy rocks inside him, Heat jolting warningly inside him. “Shit- what- who is-”

“Steve Rogers, sir.” Tony blinks. “SHIELD has been infiltrated by Hydra.”

“What-” Tony’s brain is half eaten by the incoming wave of Heat, but- __what__? “The Nazis?”

“Yes sir. They seem to have been biding their time.”

“Thought SHIELD looked pretty-” Tony makes little walking motions with two fingers. “Jackboots. Goosesteps. That uniform.”

“Yes sir.”

Tony squints at the screen. The Helicarrier is collapsing into the Potomac. “Are they okay?”

“I cannot be certain. Ms Romanov has released a great deal of information on the internet and it is difficult to parse through it to recover current events. However, AIM appears to be involved, and have released a statement as to your death. They have kidnapped the President to aid with Hydra’s takeover. I believe the vice-president is involved.”

This is- a really stupid popcorn movie. He is living through a really stupid popcorn movie. And he’s in Heat. Tony closes his eyes. The next wave, when it hit, makes things a bit simpler, at least.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony opens his eyes and the Heat is over, his body is damp and crusted with sweat and he __stinks__. He sits bolt upright. “Rhodey.” Throws his legs out to the nest and staggers to his feet. The toy is still inside him and he hops rather ridiculously on one leg, trying to pull it out. It pulls free with a painful wrench and he throws it under the broken sofa. “Pepper. Where are they? What the hell is going on?”

“The Avengers have been called to corral and apprehend the rogue members of Hydra. Colonel Rhodes and Ms Potts have been sent to stop AIM.”

__Shit__ \- Tony staggers over to the suits. Most of them have been modified, but his latest is okay, he should be able to- “Wait, Pepper?”

“Ms Potts has used the suit you provided for her.” Jarvis hesitates. “Tony, we- we annihilated almost every electrical system in the mansion. We have not been able to inform her of your- improved circumstances.” A pause. Tony pulls down the suit. “She is trying to avenge you.”

__Oh fucking hell__. Tony takes a deep breath, is about to have the suit assembled-

But there’s no time, and he doesn’t need to. Just a thought, and it buzzes and clambers up his body, snapping closed and coiling up around him like a second skin. Then the helmet comes down and-

__He’s home._ _

There’s no HUD, no feed. Tony opens his eyes and his eyes are the suit’s eyes, bright and blue and seeing __everything__. The feed delivers the information straight into his brain, he reaches out with his gauntlets, runs them over the back of the wrecked sofa, and he __feels it__ , feels it like the gauntlets are his bare hands. He can feel the roughness of the fabric, the give of the stuffing.

__“Tony?”__  Jarvis whispers in his mind and everything Tony is is just chanting __yesyesyes__  because this is so __right__. This is perfection, right there. Killian was right about that much.

__“You ready?”__  Tony smiles at them, Dummy and You and Butterfingers. What did he call them? The Flying ScrewUps Posse? Well, now it’s real. It needs a better name.

He guides the three bots to the spare suits, reaches his own awareness into the empty shells. Jarvis reaches out and maps them all together, keeps them as one. “ _ _Ready, guys?__ Iron Legion, assemble!”

He shouts the last, every repulsor lights up, and the entire side of the house bursts out as every Iron Man suit blasts out at once.

 

* * *

 

 

AIM is burning.

Everything is on fire. Rhodey can feel the heat of it even inside his suit. AIM’s goons, the modified HYDRA soldiers, have set most of it on fire by now. Three of them exploding and taken out part of the walls, and the rest are darting around, blasting flame and machinegun fire.

Once, this had been Rhodey’s worst nightmare. An urban area, filled with armed insurrectionists and suicide bombers. And it’s happening in __Miami__.

Then Pepper comes screaming in, her suit’s built more for backup than offense but her repulsors are blazing and she hits the knot of soldiers and sends them scattering. Rhodey swings out after her and tries to back her up, blasting and firing shoulder rockets and __die, just fucking die__ -

And they get up again, blown to scabs of flesh but regrowing lost limbs and blackened skin even after he watches. One collapses back and goes off and Rhodey cries out- horrified as Pepper is engulfed in fire. She reels- she’s okay but the red-white paint of her suit is bubbling and peeling, the plates underneath glowing faintly red. They’d have to tell Tony-

Oh god.

Oh god __Tony__.

It doesn’t seem real. It __can’t__  be. It wasn’t real before. Tony’d gone into Afghanistan and had come out again. He can come back from this. He has to. Oh God.

And Killian, __fucking Killian__. He’s half in rags, his clothes curling and blackening around him, his hands raised and billowing flame.

“HYDRA is gone!” Rhodey shouts. He sends a cluster of homing missiles tearing off to Killian. “You’re fucking done! Stand down!”

“One head is gone.” Killian grins, mindless, monstrous. “How many more heads? They’ll all come burrowing out when the Avengers are no more and __that,__ Colonel, is my job.” He catches the missiles in his bare hands. They rupture and his hands are obliterated into black skeletons on themselves- then reform. Killian is standing, the missiles are gone. “One down, Colonel- or is it two by now? Have we lost poor Captain America too?”

Rhodey grits his teeth. Everything’s been insane. It’s not a media blackout as a media overload. Not Steve, not him too. No. No.

“A pity.” Killian approaches, hands outstretched. “But I find Extremis makes a wonderful replacement.”

Rhodey blasts him with the repulsors, but it barely staggers him. Rhodey hesitates, but they’re surrounded. Pepper sees it too, and Rhodey bites back the helpless, burning hate and rage and kicks off, rising up and off. Searing blasts of fire rise up to meet them and Rhodey had to duck and bank- his suit is sluggish, uncertain where the wires have overheated and melted the insulation __shit- shit-__

They can’t do this. They have no idea where the President is and these people are- unstoppable. Rhodey looks down at the burning, maddened eyes of people he might well have once served beside. HYDRA’s now. Fanatic and insane with pain and fire. The comms are dead, he can only hear Pepper’s breathing, harsh and fast as she struggles to stick close to him and keep from getting separated. Isolated. Picked off. One by one.

The Avengers are scattered. Clint and Bruce struggling with the Helicarriers in New York. Steve and Natasha AWOL in Washington, the two of them penned in and cornered here. And Tony- Tony-

And maybe it’s because he’s thinking of him, and nearly deafened by the roar of the fire that seems to be engulfing the entire compound- that he doesn’t notice the crackle of static above the roar of flames.

__-living easy-_ _

Rhodey darts fast around the burnt out husk of a car, grounds hard to take cover and tries to catch his breath. The air feels stripped of oxygen- god, how are these people even breathing?

- _ _leave me be__ -

“What’s that?” Pepper snaps up her faceplate panting. Her face is scarlet from the heat, a smudge of something black across her cheek and Rhodey feels a harsh, clenching fist of guilt for bringing her here. She’s not military, has barely ten hour’s flying experience in the suit.

But she wouldn’t have stayed behind. He wouldn’t, in her place.

“What-” Rhodey starts, coughs. Then-

__-don’t need reason, don’t need rhyme__ -

He looks up at the loudspeakers in the car park, still somehow functioning.

__-ain’t nothing that I’d rather do-_ _

There’s a detonation from the other side of the building. Killian and the others are coming, but Rhodey cannot move, his whole body stiff and frozen and yet, somehow, electric.

__-going down, party time__ -

Pepper’s face splits into an enormous, brilliant grin. “ _ _No__.” She breathes. Rhodey cannot make a sound.

__-my friends are gonna be there too__ -

And there- coming in hard over the bay-

“Starting the party without me?”

__-I’M ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL-_ _

 

* * *

__

__-ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL-_ _

“You goddamn __bastard!”__  Rhodey roars, and kicks off. He gets two hard strikes, but clears the goons’ range and coming up to meet Tony. __Tony__.

“Oh, sweetiebear.” Tony laughs. “Really? You’re seriously surprised?”

Yeah, __now__  he’s feeling stupid. Afghanistan, palladium poisoning, nukes in outer space- Tony just __can’t die__. “You’re gonna regret it.” Rhodey can’t stop smiling. His __face__  hurts. “I’m never going to your funeral. Won’t believe it.”

“Smart.” Tony’s suit gleams gold and red in the dying sunlight, at least, he’s assuming that’s Tony. There are about three dozen of the suits following him. “And you Pep? Really? Come on, seriously?”

Pepper laughs, a little helpless, breathless. “Tony.”

Rhodey turns, falls in beside Tony. The other suits suddenly accelerate. Rhodey turns, they dive down at breakneck speed past them and homing in on the HYDRA soldiers. Killian is laughing, mocking voices rising to them. The suits vanish for a moment in sheets of fire. Rhodey glances at Tony, but he just nods. “Watch.”

Then the suits clear the cloud- and snap open, engulfing the HYDRA soldiers and clamping shut. The blue eyeslits blaze blue for a moment, the arc reactors cranking up until they burst free from the protective coverings in jetstreams of blue fire- then shut off, going dead. Man-shaped coffins collapsing against the half-molten asphalt.

Rhodey barely has time to hope that Tony might have found a solution- then the other soldiers are on their comrades, peeling the suits off and melting out the catches to free them. Their friends stagger out, the suits reform without them. They raise their hands to join the others in blasting them out of the sky-

And- nothing. Bare hands, not a flicker of flame.

“You wanted me the stabilise it, Killian!” Tony shouts. “I’ll be billing you my consulting rates, asshole! You can’t afford me!”

Killian __screams.__ He’s almost ablaze, the air around him shimmering heat. He’s throwing out jets of flame, but he’s only one man. His soldiers are on the run, ducking and diving and trying to get away from the suits that just- snap them up like flytraps, blurring bright blue and spitting them out to move onto more. Within seconds the small army is routing, running.

And so is Killian.

“Tony! Pepper!” Rhodey snaps, “On your three!”

Tony spins, Pepper stops for a moment in mid air. Killian is running- not away, like the others, but into the building. “The president!”

 

The president. The fucking president. This is- a weird action movie. Well, it’s a pretty __fun__  action movie. Rhodey and Pepper are in it, at least. Maybe it could be a cool buddy movie where they have to learn to work together and become fire forged friends and then have to rescue-

“Tony!”

-the President. Right. Killian is fast, Steve- fast, but he can’t beat the suits. Tony banks along the concrete shithouse forum, and beats him to the elevator. “Hey there Killian, how about a do-over?”

Killian __snarls__ , like an animal. He’s close, Tony can almost feel the waves of fire coming off of him. No, he can feel it. Feel in on the titanium alloy as on his skin. He throws a bolt of flame and Tony is just a fraction too slow and-

__Ow__. Okay, one drawback to Extremis. That __hurt__. But it’s the work of a thought to block out the pain and Tony blasts him back, knocking him into the destroyed front desk. Fuck. Happy. “Is Happy okay?”

“Hospital.” Pepper grits out. “He’ll pull through.”

Tony’s stomach nearly overturns. “I’m- fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Pepper snarls. She swings around to blast Killian, but he meets her with a wall of fire that sends her reeling. “It wasn’t your idea-” her voice cracks. “You were the one who wanted to break it off-”

Tony hesitates. “Pepper-”

“ _ _Shut up__ -” She spits. “Just- end this. Make it stop!”

Tony nods. Rhodey is trying to pin Killian down but he’s too fast, and Rhodey doesn’t dare to use most of his armaments, the walls are already starting to crack under the heat. This isn’t going to work. If this goes on any longer the whole place is going to come down and even beside the president, there have to be a lot of innocent- or mostly innocent- people in this building.

Killian’s eyes are red-yellow, glowing coals. “I gave you perfection, Tony!” His voice crackles like wildfire. “I made you perfect and you __threw it away__! What we could have done-”

Tony doesn’t answer, dodges left but Killian is closing in. His hands wreathed in flame, his lips cracked, teeth blackened as he bares them. “I would have made you a god! You and I! Do you think we would have continued to work with Hydra? They would have been ashes- we could have built a new world!”

He’s completely raving. Tony backs away, but Killian keeps closing. He could try and lash out, he’s well within range, but he doesn’t. Rhodey and Pepper try and close but- “No.” Tony breathes, “Wait.”

“We could have remade all of this!” Killian roars, throws up his hands. “All my plans- I tried to tell you, but __you left me__. I spent all night on that rooftop, I nearly threw myself off, and you- depraved, monstrous, fucking Maya and half the fucking planet and __why not me__?”

“Tony,” Pepper whispers. “I am so sorry.” she sounds sick with horror.

“It’s okay.” Well, maybe not, but it will be. “Just wait.” Killian is close. Tony can see the black pin-prick of his pupils, smell the stench of burning flesh as Extremis sears him alive and heals him endlessly.

“You were __mine__ -” Killian hisses, and Tony drops the armor.

It lifts off his body, baring skin and bare flesh and Killian stops dead and- oh, right.

He’d forgotten about clothes.

Killian’s nostrils widen, and he stiffens at the full-bore wall of scent. Heat, Omega, sweat and sex. Killian’s mouth opens and Tony can see the flames rushing up his throat. Killian’s eyes widen and- he knows. He can feel it. One step too far. Extremis.

“ _ _No!__ ” Killian screams, and lunges. Rhodey and Pepper start forward but it’s okay. It’s barely a thought and the suit is flying again, past Tony and engulfing Killian. The force of it sends Killian sprawling. For a moment Tony looks into his own suit’s eyes, still blue for a heartbeat- then red. Burning brighter and brighter and smoke starts to seep out through the joints. Tony covers his face and turns away as Killian detonates.

The blast is choked off by the suit, but still burns a crater in the floor of the forum. Tony draws in a breath, coughs at the smell of roasted human and burnt plastic and melted metal. The air is stale and choking with smoke, still almost too hot. The air conditioning rattles somewhere high above.

“Tony.” Rhodey steps forwards, “Are you okay-” He reaches up for his faceplate.

“Whoa!” Tony yelps. “Rhodey, no!”

But it’s too late, Rhodey snaps up his faceplate. He takes a breath, and his eyes go wide. The faceplate snaps back down and Rhodey is coughing inside his helmet. “Sorry.”

“Rhodey?” Pepper comes over, then stops dead.

“Pepper- do yourself a favor and keep your helmet on.” Rhodey wheezes. “Holy shit Tony, I’m __gay__  and- seriously-”

“Didn’t exactly have time for a bath. I thought Nazis taking over America was kinda more import-”

It’s all he gets out, because he is suddenly choking on a mouthful of foam as Pepper finds a firehose and turns it on him.

 

* * *

 

 

The helicarrier is still sticking half out of the Hudson, smashed almost in two where the Hulk had been at it. After The Chitauri, no one seems to blink at the new addition. Steve is really, really glad to be home. Nowhere’s quite like New York.

He pauses, the wall is clear glass and probably harder than steel, but Steve hesitates before lifting a hand and tapping, very lightly on the door. He can help but be terrified he’s going to smash the lot.

“Come in Captain Rogers.” Jarvis’ voice is warm, like it used to be, when he was just ‘Steve’. He hopes it can stay that way, after- well.

“Hey Tony.” And- oh hell, it’s __good__  to see him. After SHIELD fell, and Zola in the bunker, mocking him. He’d said they’d gotten Tony, gotten Bruce and Rhodey and they were __all dead__. All dead, all over again. Just like before, all his friends gone.

No, not quite all.

Steve swallows. Tony is smiling, warm and welcoming and like Steve was __just__  the person he wanted to see right now and Steve can’t help but smile back. “I’m- glad you’re okay.” He stumbles in, “We heard about AIM.”

“Yeah, AIM, Hammer, Stane, Ten Rings-” Tony waves it off. “Killing Tony Stark’s like a mark of status to those assholes. ‘Course, then I blow you up, but hey, you got the fame.” He looks at Steve, a little more closely. “You okay?”

He knows. Steve looks away, swallows. “Yeah.” Tony’s still looking. “Well, not great, but-” He sighs, rubs his face. Is it- is it wrong to feel conflicted about this? At least before, the past was- done. Finished. Rolled up behind him in sepia photographs and old newspapers. Not raw and angry, an open wound ripped wide and bleeding.

Tony nods at the chair next to him. Steve sits down tentatively, but the chair holds under him. “Heard there was another guy,” Tony changes tack, and Steve is grateful, although- “Not Sitwell, some- Mandarin guy?”

“Slatterly,” Steve continues, can he can’t help but smile. “He was just the fall guy, some drunk actor Killian hired. Natasha took him in and he needed new pants by the time she’d finished.”

Tony laughs, it makes Steve’s stomach twists. He needs to start, tell him-

He looks at the screen in front of Tony, the long line of ones and zeros. “What are you working on?” He winces at his own stilted words, the desperation to talk about anything but- this.

But Tony’s face just- lights up. Like Steve couldn’t have asked for anything better and Steve can’t regret his cowardice. “Say hello,” Tony waves a had at the screen, “To kid number five.”

Steve blinks, mind jarred off course. “I- what?” He looks at Tony’s broad grin, and- what do you say to something like that? Steve scrambles and lands on what his mother use to say to their landlord, when he got- in the family way, as she used to say. “That’s- that’s great Tony.” Tony beams. “I’m really happy for you.” Steve stalls, most of the follow on questions- __do you want a boy or a girl? How far along are you__?- don’t really seem to work in this situation.

“Is it going to be like Jarvis? Or Dummy?” He asks instead.

“Like Jarvis,” Tony scrolls back through the numbers on the screen. “Okay, you see this lot?” He runs his hand through the projection, bringing up a blur of figures. “That’s the base code. That’s Dummy, Butterfingers, You, and Jarvis. They all come from the same base code. But this-” he runs back up, back to the numbers he’d been working on. “This is like a- learning structure? Like a scaffold. See, Dummy and Butterfingers and You- they didn’t have this. They learn asymmetrically. They pick up some stuff, but not others. Works for them, but it makes the world outside the workshop- hard to deal with. So I set this up for Jarvis. It sorta mimics how kids learn, so he picks stuff up in a more human way, becomes a bit easier for people to interact with.” He stops, looks at Steve, a bit nervously.

He’s waiting for Steve to laugh, to be bored or- something. Steve smiles. “That sounds amazing.” He gets another dazzling smile. “Why did you decide you wanted another kid?”

Tony shifts, looks a bit uncomfortable. “Just felt right. It would be great to have someone to run the Iron Legion, and s’about time Jarvis got a little brother or sister.”

“It’s really neat.” Steve says firmly, “How long, um-” he has no idea how to finish that sentence.

Tony hesitates, “I mean, they can start helping us out in a few weeks with the Legion, but it won’t be- um-” Tony rubs his face, “It won’t be __them__ yet? They are still- growing? They’ll be running off pre-programmed algorithm for years. It took Jarvis about three years to be really him. I guess it’s gonna be about another three years before we meet this little guy.”

Steve nods, hopes Tony is going to say more, but he’s looking at Steve, waiting. Steve closes his eyes, he’s out of time. He’s got to-

“You didn’t come down here to chat about my kids,” Tony says, “Wanna tell me why you’re here?”

Goddammit. “I-” Steve closes his eyes. He’s got to. He can’t keep quiet, not on this. “Tony, I’ve got to tell you something.”

Tony shifts, leans on his desk. Nods.

“But-” Steve takes a breath. “I need to break rule four.”

Tony’s eyes flicker. It’s almost too fast to see, a flare, bluish fire and gone almost as fast. Steve blinks, was it the reflection of the screen? Then Tony closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

Steve blinks, “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Tony looks away, “Thanks for the warning. Go on.”

Steve swallows. __Go on__. “Natasha and me- we found an old- bunker. SHIELD, well, HYDRA really, there was-” he hesitates, skips over Zola, it doesn’t really matter. “There were records. Of the Winter Soldier. His kills. He-” Steve grits his teeth, and throws the last words over the edge. “He killed Howard.”

And Tony- Tony goes very, very still. His eyes are- flat. Like the screen in front of him, reflecting the scrolling numbers. Steve’s stomach twists, please god- let this have been the right thing to do. God, __Bucky__ \- but this is Tony, surely he’d understand. After what Howard did- and Bucky was mind-controlled, it wasn’t really him-

The words fade to smoke and blow away under Tony’s rigid expression, blank stare. God, Steve can’t even imagine what he’s feeling, right now. “I’m sorry.” It’s all he can think to say, wavering and pathetic.

Tony blinks, looks at him- and away, back at the screen. “I’d have told you as soon as I knew,” Steve continues, pleading. “But you weren’t there- there was HYDRA and AIM and-” he breaks off, shuts up before he makes everything worse.

Tony nods. “Thanks for telling me.” His voice is strange, seems to be coming from a long way off. “I think- you ought to go, Steve.”

Steve nods, miserably, gets up. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, and walks out. The glass doors close automatically behind him, and when he looks back, Tony hasn’t moved, sitting unmoving in his chair.

 

* * *

 

 

“You told him?” It’s Natasha, she leans on the wall, looking at Steve with a sad smile.

Steve sighs, nods. He looks down at his coffee, it’s half cold, he still doesn’t feel like drinking it.

Natasha comes in, peels his hands from the mug and puts it on the low table. “You’re going to break that.” Steve nods, rubs his face, god, he’s tired. “He didn’t take it well then.” She sits down next to him. “I didn’t think he would.”

“No, he-” Steve sighs. “He just said thanks for telling him, and told me to go. He- didn’t look angry.”

“That’s mature for him.” Natasha stretches. “Nick tried to talk to him once, about his dad.” Steve looks up, sharply. “He nearly hit the roof, threatened to gas us, screaming about how daddy hated him-”

“Stop.” Steve’s stomach is a solid knot, frozen somewhere under his ribcage. Natasha stops dead, frowns at him. “Please Natasha.”

She looks at him, calm, but there’s something sharp in her eyes, like a scalpel. She’s good, give it a few more minutes and she’d probably guess and- Tony would never forgive him. “Please.” He repeats. “Don’t. Don’t go there.”

“You know what happened.” Her voice is calm, expressionless. “He didn’t tell you, how did-”

“Natasha!” It comes out too hard, too sharp. __Captain America__. “Just- please don’t. I found out by accident and Tony doesn’t know. He-” Steve rubs his face, “He was drunk. He didn’t know I could hear him.” He meets her eyes. “Please don’t. Don’t go looking. There is __nothing__ there that’s going to make anything better.” Natasha doesn’t move, her expression doesn’t change- but she’s doubtful, Steve can feel it. “I need you to promise me you won’t dig into this. For me, for Tony, for the Avengers. Okay?”

Natasha keeps his gaze for another moment, then sighs. She nods. “Was it that bad?” Her voice is strangely soft.

Steve looks away, but Natasha can probably see enough. That bad. That bad and worse. She nods, looks away. “That mad.” She repeats. “Like it was that bad for me, for you.” She smiles sadly. “’I don’t want to go among mad people.’”

After a year in the future, it’s still a thrill when Steve gets a reference. “’We’re all mad here.’” He glances sideways at Natasha. “’I’m mad, you’re mad.’”

“Pepper isn’t.” Natasha leans back. “She’s not and she’s still getting caught up in this. I don’t know if I can forgive Tony for making her that suit.”

“I saw my friends go off to fight when I couldn’t go with them,” Steve says softly, “And that was the worst feeling in the world. Fighting? Getting caught up? That’s nothing. It’s worth going mad.”

Natasha stares off into space for a moment. “I never had that.” She says finally. “I never knew that feeling. I just wish-”

“Yeah.” They come out of each fight a bit more battered, knocked around. Rhodey’s arm is a mass of gauze from third degree burns. Pepper has been appearing on television under about an inch of makeup to cover the red marks on her cheeks and forehead. Sam’s walking about rigid, his back strained from hours on the wing. Even Clint is taking it easy after pulling his hamstring jumping down from the crashing helicarrier. At least he and Bruce heal fast, and somehow Tony made it out without a scratch.

He hopes- he hopes Bucky made it out okay. That he was safe, God, where was he?

Natasha touches his arm, “We’ll find him.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think Tony-”

“I’m not asking him.” Steve says flatly. There are limits. There are goddamn limits. This whole mess is so hideous Steve can’t bear to go near it, in case he makes it worse.

She nods. Then gets up, still touching his arm. “You’ll be okay?”

“Sam’s asked me to spot for him for PT.” He smiles. “I’ll keep busy. Say hi to Pepper.”

Natasha smiles, and it’s a lovely one, slow and sweet and happy. God, at least that makes one of them.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tony would like to see you on the rec room floor.” Jarvis’s voice makes Steve nearly slide off the treadmill. “The small room off the main corridor.”

“Um- okay.” Steve slows down, at least he’d only just started, he’s not even started sweating. “Is he-”

“I think you should speak to him yourself.”

And that feels like doom if nothing does. Steve’s stomach lodges somewhere around his feet, and weigh them down as he drags himself out of the gym and to the elevator. He’s not sure __what__  he’s afraid of. He doesn’t think Tony is going to kick him out, after what happened last time. Maybe he’s planning to hunt down Bucky, but that doesn’t sound right for him either. The doors close behind him, and carry him up.

The small room off the rec room’s been pretty much unused since they moved into the compound. He thinks Clint hangs out there sometimes-

Then he opens the door and Clint is __not__  going to be happy.

Tony’s cleared the place out, and set up a massive desk in the middle of it. It’s home to a smaller copy of the computer set up in Tony’s workshop, and Tony’s waving his hands through the projection, parsing out rows of ones and zeros that- look rather similar to the ones he’d been working on a few days ago.

He turns, and gives Steve a tired smile. He looks __exhausted__ , has he slept at all-

Then again, if it was Steve in his place, he wouldn’t be sleeping much either.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, and walks in, “Is this the playpen for your kid?”

Tony laughs, “Not quite.” He shifts out of the seat, and waves Steve in to sit in the chair. Steve hesitates, then slides in. “I cloned the code. Why have one kid when you can have two?”

“Can you do that?”

“It’s what happened to You and Butterfingers,” Tony leans on the desk, “Started off with one line of code, crashed for twenty hours after staying up for a week, woke up to two lines. Twins.”

Steve nods tentatively. He lifts a hand and brushes it through the code, the projection flickers, and returns to a blank screen.

“Here.” Tony leans forwards, and brushes the screen aside. It turns to a map of the world. A cluster of golden lights speckle across the globe. “Sightings for one James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve starts, looks up at him, “Tony-”

“Oh, shut up.” Tony sighs, rubs his face. “Like I need an excuse for another kid. This one can dig through CCTV data, cellphone footage, whatever- to try and find him.”

“You didn’t have to-”

Tony holds up a hand, shakes his head. He takes a deep breath. “If he didn’t- do what he did, I wouldn’t be here, okay? I’d be dead. Really, really dead. I owe- __somebody__  for that. And I either owe it to Bucky Barnes, or HYDRA. American Hero or Super-Nazi terrorists? Hmm, how can I choose?”

“Tony-” Then Steve gives up, because __this isn’t about him__. If it helps Tony, he can shut up. If it helps Bucky, then he can do a bit more than that. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

Tony smiles, he closes his eyes for a moment and Steve wonders, alarmed, if he’s about to fall asleep right here. “Tell me when this one chooses a name.”

“Is that how it works?” Steve tentatively brushes his fingers over the display, a short video pops up from last week, Bucky walking through the Captain America exhibition in the Smithsonian. “What should I call her-him- them?”

“I just got with the default name of the program.” Tony stretches, yawns, “Maybe one day one of them’ll want to be called __Ultron__ , it’s an awesome name.”


End file.
